


(There he is) Mister Hell!

by milkyfrankie



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Sexuality Crisis, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28065174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyfrankie/pseuds/milkyfrankie
Summary: Limits. Everybody has one.Read with caution!
Kudos: 6





	(There he is) Mister Hell!

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a song, (There She Is) Miss America! By Johnny Desmond made in 1955. However, by listening to the Mark Hadley covers you’ll get the exact feel I’m going for. Thank you, enjoy!

Sometimes, all it takes is one little push to make someone snap past their limits. 

When someone has finally had enough, the dam of emotions break… for better or worse.

All Angel wanted, in life and in death, was to be accepted. The yearning of genuine love and happiness plagued the void within his heart and soul for years. Ever since he was a little boy back in New York, he remembered the nights where he would cry himself to sleep as a heavy ache would settle deep into his mind, an awful voice telling him he would never be free. Telling him he would never be himself, that no matter how hard he would try, never in his life would he ever be his own and happy.

That seemed to have followed him even long after death.

When he was 10, he remembered the beating he got from his father after he walked in and saw Angel standing proudly in the middle of Molly’s room with one of her dresses. The ache lifted for a moment when he put it on. For just a second, he was teased with the feeling of light. This feeling he clung onto desperately as the years went on, even as the memory began to fade and seemed to be only a daydream within his mind, he did his best to keep it.

It always seemed real at the end of the day when it would be overshadowed with the faint memory of his father’s closed handed hit to his face knocking him back to reality.

A familiar hit whenever he found himself in Valentino’s grasp.

When he was promised freedom, he knew then as he knew now, that was never the case. It was not his to own, it would never be his to own.

Well… so easily.

There is such a thing as the last straw. There always is. In life, in death. The limit will forever exist for someone.

It was always there for Angel. Little did anyone know, it would be pushed so far, there would’ve been no going back.

Purchasing the custom made bullets was so expensive, it damn near left him poor when he spent the money he worked and saved for. Now that wouldn’t have been what broke him. What officially did was buying the angelic weapons to be made into those bullets is what did the trick.

But he didn’t care, money meant nothing at this point.

Guns, check. Special bullets, check. A very nice glittery pink dress that fit him well for the occasion, check. His favorite blonde wig, one that reminded him of Molly’s hair back when he was alive, check.

Targets, check.

The lust district was the place. Specifically Val’s own little place where most of the nightmares took place.

He shot anyone in his way, bullets from his Tommy gun spraying all around the lobby and the hallways as he made his way up the levels. Old co-workers laid on the floor as they met their second deaths to fade into nothingness. Blood soaked the carpet and walls, but barely touched Angel himself.

Looking back at the chaos he reigned down upon the building, all the beautiful spider could do was smile.

It was lifting. The weight. The agony. The ache…

Tiptoeing towards the big office across the hall on the top floor, he hummed and sang lightly as he listened in on a certain little moth shout in panic. It was an old song, one made not too long after he had died. It was one he listened to constantly back then, twirling around every time with various luxury clothing as he envisioned himself performing for a crowd of impressed individuals.

Oh how they clapped for him in his mind. How they cried out his name. How amazing he felt within the confines of his room.

This song meant so much to him. Only such a big song to go with such a big moment.

_ There she is, Miss America _

“Fuck, fuck FUCK!”

_ There she is, your ideal _

He knocked on the big red double doors after approaching them slowly, speaking nothing but the beautiful lyrics of the song.

_ With so many beauties, she took the town by storm _

He didn’t give it a second thought before bursting down the door and holding the gun straight up to Valentino’s paled face. The moth backed away, looking a way he had never before in front of Angel, scared.

_ With her all American face and form _

“Angel Cakes, baby, please. Let’s talk about it. I-I-I’m sorry for how I was before but please! I can change! I promise!” Val begged as he dropped to his knees, knowing he had no chance against the speed of a Tommy gun or the special bullets that had killed more than half of his studio.

My, how the tall and mighty have fallen.

_ There she is _

Lifting it up more, the hot barrel of the gun pushed between Valentino’s eyes. It let out an audible hiss as it burned his skin.

Angel smiled widely before opening his mouth and sang louder.

_ Walking on air, she is _

Pulling the trigger, releasing a string of bullets into the moth’s head, blowing it to bits till little was left. Angel gasped in surprise as blood splattered his face. Nearly ruining his makeup, but at this point, he didn’t mind whatsoever.

_ Fairest of the fair, she is _

Looking out the big window, he summed a gold engraved pistol. Loaded with one, single angelic bullet.

_ There she is... _

He closed his eyes and grinned wildly. Tears escaped just before his eyelids dropped.

Free from Val. Free from his father. Free from hell.

Freedom was nothingness.

_ Miss America _

**_BAM!_ **


End file.
